My mom stayed quiet on the other end of the line.
“Mom?”
“That sounds great, honey. I think…yeah, we should probably get some of those things fixed. But I don’t want to take up your time. You should focus on getting settled, starting your new job. I’m fine down here. Wait—isn’t Eliza down in Golden Falls? Have you seen her yet?”
“She is,” I said slowly, knowing that questions from my mom about Eliza were going to be harder to shake off. “She has a yoga studio in town and also bartends.”
“She opened the studio?” My mom beamed. “Last I spoke with her, she was still thinking about it, but that was years ago. Oh, that is one special girl. Tell her I say hi next time you see her. Or better yet, tell her to call me, just for a few minutes. I’d love to hear what she’s been up to.”
I couldn’t help the smile that came across my face. Even my mom hadn’t forgotten Eliza.
“I’ll, yeah, I’ll let her know. I should get back to unpacking, but I’ll come by one of the upcoming weekends to see you and the house. We can clean out the gutters and tackle the yard.” That had been one of the tasks I knew my mom didn’t have a chance to get to last year.
“You can just visit, you know. You don’thaveto do something.”
“I know, but I want to.”
“Okay,” she said gently. “Get back to unpacking, hon. Try to relax a bit, too. And don’t forget about Eliza.”
I couldn’t even if I tried.
It was hard to explain what it felt like when I was in the kitchen, but the appreciation only grew with time. And I didn’t have to be cooking—simplybeingin a kitchen brought a sense of calmness and creativity.
When I stepped into the Lake Ridge kitchen earlier today, an excitement coursed through me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. An excitement for a new challenge. The kitchen had everything I’d need: prep stations, food warmers, gas ranges, state-of-the-art knives, and other tools I was eager to get my hands on. Wes had clearly done his research.
With the kitchen tucked away from the rest of the bar, there was a comfortable stillness in the air. Already, my mind whirred with ideas for the first menu.
I’d been itching to get back in the kitchen and lose myself in cooking. As much as I’d needed the days off—which passed by in a blur of unpacking and getting settled—I was ready to get back to cooking and meet the bar staff, especially after seeing how tight-knit the town was.
A lot of my enjoyment for cooking could also be attributed to the people. I’d worked with some incredible chefs who’d mentored me and made this job all the more enjoyable.
At Lake Ridge, I’d be working closely with Ray, a line cook in his early fifties who moved to Golden Falls about a decade ago. His dark hair had streaks of gray and so did his beard. He hadtattoos on his arms and seemed to be reserved but friendly. We’d get along great.
It would be the two of us to start, but Wes made it clear I’d be able to expand the kitchen staff, assuming the spring went well. Wes was ready to give us the resources we needed to be successful, and I appreciated that.
Until now, Lake Ridge had been serving bar snacks—cheese curds, french fries, chips and salsa—that Ray prepared.
Wes, Ray, and I had decided earlier this morning when the three of us met that we’d start off with a limited menu that changed every few weeks. We’d do our best to cook with ingredients that were in season and sourced from local farmers and suppliers.
Food would be served Thursday through Saturday to make it manageable for our smaller staff and to allow us to take off Sunday to recharge. Wes hired high school students to help with hosting and running the food, with plans to add in additional seasonal employees over the summer, which was the busiest time of the year.
One of the first steps was to create the initial menu then do a tasting for the servers and other staff so they were prepared to answer any questions from customers.
Ray and I were sitting in a booth toward the back brainstorming. Since it was early April, the local harvest season was only beginning.
“I’m thinking we create an early spring menu for most of April and then pivot to a late spring menu. When do things pick up around here with the tourists? Memorial Day?” I asked, flipping to a new page in my small notebook.
Ray nodded, a gruff grunt leaving him. “You got it. Most of this month will be slow, but I think the menu will bring more people in. Then come late May and early June, the town is completely different through the summer. Took me some gettingused to, and it’s made me appreciate the quiet months more. But Wes does a good job catering to both the tourists and the locals.”
I nodded, jotting down notes. While Wes was forward-thinking in what he wanted Lake Ridge to be, there were also personal and historic touches that called on the bar’s beginnings. “The menu should do the same, then. It should feel authentic and exciting both to people who live here but also those visiting.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
What I loved about local places like Lake Ridge that my last job lacked was making delicious food accessible to all. Having a special dining experience with people you cared about shouldn’t be tied to having money.
I’ve always wanted my food to bring people together, to besogood that you forgot to take a picture, because you were too excited to take a bite or too caught up in conversation with those around you.
“Is there something about Lake Ridge or how Mark and Laura started the place that should be reflected in the menu?” I asked, wanting Ray’s thoughts first before I asked others the same question.
